Faramir Therapy
by Romula1
Summary: Faramir seeks out a therapist. Rather odd, so be warned. All done! Completo! Finito! Please r and r I'll love you so much for it...*flutters eyelashes*
1. Therapy Session No1

uFARAMIR THERAPY SESSION NO. 1/u  
  
The first impression that the therapist got which indicated her client's.difference was that the form her secretary had handed her only bore one name - Faramir son of Denethor. Heaving a sigh of irritation, she pulled off her reading glasses and left her desk to ask the secretary about it.  
  
"Helen, what's with this guy's name?" She asked, leaning on the doorframe and waving the paper pointedly.  
  
Her secretary looked up and shrugged, "You told me it's best to let them have their way with stuff like this if they sound particularly unstable. He was totally adamant that that was his name - found the concept of second names rather quaint as far as I could tell."  
  
Unimpressed, the therapist nodded and swung back into her room, closing the door as she did so. She sat down again and began tapping her pen on the table as she watched the clock. She was aware that she had picked up several habits during the course of her life - many, admittedly from her clients.  
  
It was several minutes since 'Faramir son of Denethor' was scheduled to arrive when her secretary finally gave a soft knock on the door to announce his coming. This wasn't unusual - they were always either early or late, and the therapist had considered performing a study to see whether verging on the mentally unstable led you to a fear of punctuality.  
  
Muffled by the door she caught only the odd word from her secretary, but it was "Okay, just hang your cloak up there," that made her sit up a little. ICloak?/I she wondered, standing up and moving around the desk to stand near the door. She held her glasses to her eyes and peered down at her information again. It was just the normal as far as she could see - parental problems, family deaths, etc.  
  
When the door opened and her client stepped in she couldn't control a little raise of the eyebrows. He was wearing a green and brown tunic under a leather waistcoat, and had some form of green trousers on too, as well as matching leather boots. And he had a sword on his belt and a quiver of arrows on his back.  
  
Recovering a little, she held out a hand. "Hello, Faramir, my name is Julie and I'm here to listen to anything you feel you have to say."  
  
He hesitated, casting a suspicious glance around the room. When his eyes fell upon her outstretched hand he frowned, choosing instead to step back and give a little bow. "Greetings, Julie, I'm glad that you are willing to help me."  
  
She stared at this and was aware of her mouth gaping like a fish's as she watched him straighten again, his expression one of the utmost sincerity. "Um, well, perhaps you'd feel more relaxed if you took off your weapons, Faramir. You're perfectly safe in here, I assure you. You can just put them on my desk there if you want."  
  
He gave her another suspicious look before walking past her to the desk. With surprising care he laid his quiver upon the desk, and then unbuckled his belt and put it down too. She gave a sigh of relief and moved to the armchair by the chaise-long. "Please, have a seat," she gestured to the couch.  
  
Moving slowly over to it, he gave her what she at first perceived to be an imperious glare, but later she realised he was still assessing all he came across. He looked down at her; his arms folded and chin tilted at a disobedient angle. "I am not ill, Miss Julie, I do not need a bed."  
  
"Um." she looked up at him, her confusion growing. "Well, this isn't a bed, it's a couch. I don't mean to imply that you're ill, because you're obviously not. It's again, just to help you relax when you're talking." She was glad to hear the rational therapist within her kick in.  
  
Giving her that strange look again, he sat down awkwardly on the edge of the leather chaise-long and folded his hands in his lap, obviously waiting for her to begin.  
  
"Well," she said, taking a deep breath. "Let's start at the beginning. Tell me a bit about yourself and your family, and what led to the current conflict."  
  
He looked alarmed for a moment, sitting up straighter. "Conflict? How did you come to know about that?"  
  
Even more perplexed, she held up the paper that her secretary had given her. "It says right here.about you father?"  
  
"Oh, yes." he relaxed again.  
  
"Do you mind if I record our conversations, Faramir? You see, listening to them again will help me to understand how to help you."  
  
He looked confused, a frown creasing his brow. "That's fine, Miss Julie, if it will aid you."  
  
"Thank you," she nodded, flicking the switch on her recorder. She prompted him again to tell her about himself.  
  
"My father is the steward of our city, Gondor. The stewards have ruled since the last king, Isildur, was killed many years ago. I had an older brother of the name Boromir, who was being trained by our father to take over as steward, but Boromir was killed." The therapist began to wonder a little about the amount of murders in this land of 'Gondor' that her client spoke of. "Boromir had always been father's favourite for as long as I can remember. They were very similar, Miss Julie - both were very loyal to our city and our people, but they would always allow the ends to justify the means, if you can understand me?"  
  
The therapist nodded. Normally when clients were talking they lost themselves in their own memories and recollections and were seemingly happy to talk as if to themselves for their allocated time. Faramir had stubbornly remained in a sitting position, his eyes focused as he told the story to her.  
  
"Father never thought too much of me, his younger son. Boromir was strong and healthy; there was no reason to believe he would come to an early end. Father always saw me as the runt - a weakling next to my brother and a coward. But I'm not, Miss Julie."  
  
Again his use of her name made her sit up a bit. She had decided he was undoubtedly the most unusual client she had ever had.  
  
"I became a Ranger. Do you know what they are?" She shook her head, fascinated despite herself. "Well I don't suppose any one word can describe us. We are expert trackers and hunters. We specialise in secrecy, and can take out large armies in very quick time with only a few well-disguised archers."  
  
"Oh, like guerrillas?" She asked, beginning to suspect him of being involved with some sort of Middle-Eastern conflict.  
  
"Yes, I suppose so." He conceded.  
  
"Tell me, Faramir, where is it that you come from? Where is Gondor?"  
  
"It is a part of Middle-Earth, just to the West of the land of Shadow."  
  
She stared. IOh my God, what if he's with Al Qaeda and he's going to blow this building up?/I "Okay, I see."  
  
He considered his hands, which were folded neatly on the skirt of his tunic. "Well despite becoming a Ranger, I was still not given respect from my father. He instead thought of me as an exile, although he did not hesitate to put me to use where there was danger approaching his city. One day my Rangers and I came across a pair of hobbits as we conducted an attack. We held them captive for a while, because I was curious as to their business in our land."  
  
"You kidnapped them?" The therapist was horrified - she had no idea what a 'hobbit' was, but they sounded terribly cute to her and the idea of anyone being captured like that scared her.  
  
He gave her his assessing look again, leaning back a little. "Do you think it was wrong? They were trespassing, and we did not threaten them or use force other than a push and a shove onto the correct paths." She said nothing, but wondered again at this strange and confusing man. "If I upset you, Miss Julie, please say and I will rethink my accounts."  
  
"No, no, it's fine. Continue, please," she gestured with her hand to emphasise her words, also shaking her head a little as if to bring herself out of a dream.  
  
"We had seen their tracks, and we knew their party had previously been of three, but we had only caught two. They called themselves Frodo and Sam and told me they had known my brother. I did not get an entirely positive reply when I asked whether they were friendly with him - they seemed very reluctant to talk of it. When I told them of his death they appeared ignorant, so I still had no news of how it happened."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Thank you." He paused for the first time in his account, and the therapist studied his expression carefully. He was looking down and his face was as closed as it had been since he entered, but the therapist wondered if perhaps his eyes looked glossier, as though they were covered by a thin layer of salt water. "Well we found the third member of their travelling group, and." He frowned, as though he was deciding whether some detail should be included. "I found out from him that the hobbits had something of importance."  
  
"Is that all you found out?" The therapist found herself suspicious of this part of the tale.  
  
"Yes." He looked at her with a guarded expression, as though he was expecting more questions on this subject. Because he was leaning forwards his long hair fell over his face, and the therapist leaned back a little, unnerved by the effect it produced. "They had something of great power that I thought could save our people."  
  
"What did your people need saving from?"  
  
Again, that appraising look. "Great evil. That is enough for you to know. I admit that within a few moments I was beginning to think that I could gain the respect of my father by bringing the hobbits to him. I overheard them discussing it, and I.I forced them to come to Gondor with me, to save my city and to meet my father. The one called Sam told me how Boromir was killed then." For the second time, Faramir paused and the room became silent. The therapist was slightly ashamed to find herself holding her breath. "He was corrupted by the power of it. The thing that the hobbits carried drove my brother to insanity. And it was beginning its work on me."  
  
"What Iwas/I it?" she asked, leaning closer again.  
  
"A tool belonging to the great evil of which I spoke. Servants of this evil were launching an attack on Gondor, and I shot one that was calling to the hobbits for its master's tool. I witnessed something then between the hobbits that made me realise what a fool I was to try and use the object they carried. I set them free, but my city now labels me as a traitor - my life has been made forfeit and I will find no sympathy from my father. Do you see my problem, Miss Julie?"  
  
The therapist nodded without saying anything. She was wondering how someone who talked of killing so easily still had enough compassion to release prisoners that he had planned to use. "Yes, I think I am beginning to understand. I hope that this session has helped you also, Faramir?"  
  
He did not give her his customary look of judgement this time, but one corner of his mouth curled into a smile. "I believe it has been of some use, yes. I thank you for your time." He stood up, walking back to her desk and replacing his weapons. She watched him move slowly but deliberately back to the door of the office, each movement reminding her of a cat stretching after a sleep. He smiled again as he left the room, nodding his head once also.  
  
The therapist reached for her recorder, already wanting to listen to his words again, but she found that her fingers had not fully depressed the button and that not a thing had been recorded. With a rueful sigh she headed back to her desk, preparing to make a Ilong/I set of notes. 


	2. Therapy Session No2

uFARAMIR THERAPY SESSION NO.2/u  
  
The therapist found herself going back over and over her session with Faramir son of Denethor during the course of the week, and on the next Thursday she fidgeted with impatience as she awaited his arrival, glancing at her watch and tapping her pen and glancing at the clock.  
  
She began to wish that he were one of those clients who arrived early rather than late, but as the minute hand of the clock crept subtly towards the three, worry started gnawing at her. The therapist leapt to her feet finally, hurrying to her door once more. "Helen? That Faramir guy didn't ring to cancel did he?"  
  
Helen pulled a face and nodded her head almost imperceptibly towards the small cloakroom. Faramir's odd little smile peered around the doorframe. "I'm sorry I'm late, Miss Julie. I was delayed upon leaving, otherwise I would have been on time this week."  
  
The therapist halted in the doorway, composing herself a little. It would never to for clients to see their therapist in a state of stress. "Ah, Faramir, I'm glad you could make it. It's okay if you're a little late - I have plenty of time today."  
  
He nodded graciously and stepped out of the cloakroom, his weapons apparently already laid down in there. She moved out of the way and into her office, leaving the door open for him before going to sit in her chair and waiting for him to come in. She jumped when his voice spoke from somewhere close behind her. She hadn't even heard the door click shut.  
  
"Miss Julie-"  
  
"Oh!"  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he looked down at her, that assessing look making itself known again. "I was going to ask if it would be alright for me to sit on a chair this week - I wasn't very relaxed sitting on the bed."  
  
"Yes, yes that would be fine." she mumbled distractedly, hurrying to her feet again and fetching the swivel chair from behind her desk. She wheeled it across the thick carpet with difficulty, then started trying to turn her armchair to face it. Faramir - who had been watching her with a very bemused expression - now moved to help her. She stepped back as he easily manoeuvred the large piece of furniture.  
  
"Um, thank you."  
  
He just glanced at her once, a strange little twitch of a smile on his face and a shrewd gleam in his eye. He relaxed into the swivel chair then, casually swinging from side to side on it.  
  
"So." she began, pressing the button on her tape recorder down with finality. "How have you been over this last week, Faramir?"  
  
He sighed and stilled the movement of the chair by uncrossing his legs and planting his feet down firmly. His hands came unclasped and each one now gripped an arm of the chair feverishly. He leaned forwards and fixed the therapist with a piercing stare. "I had to fight my way back in to see my father - allies of ours have come to help defend our city, and I believe the small matter of a forfeit on my life have been forgotten. There are terrible things attacking us, Miss Julie. I doubt you could understand, but they are the epitome of every man's fear. Even the bravest scatter before them." He looked away and leaned back again, his voice becoming bitter. "Yet still my father bears his grudge and shuns my advice and reason."  
  
The therapist frowned, troubled by the thought of such an unforgiving person. "Did your father ever harm you or your brother, Faramir? Did he.beat you?"  
  
His attention returned to her quickly, and he seemed puzzled. "He had no need of it. We did not steal like the other children and we attended all our lessons - both the physical ones and the mental. We did not disobey him ever."  
  
"Would you have?"  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"If he wasn't so.domineering, would you have been more like the other children? Were you kept subdued by fear of him?"  
  
His eyes narrowed as though he finally understood, and he leaned his chin on a leather-clad hand. "I suppose so. But I think we also had a genuine desire to learn. Boromir so that he could live up to father's expectations and myself so as I could prove worthy of the role I desired. Father did shout, though, if that is what you are getting at, Miss Julie?"  
  
"Go on, Faramir," the therapist encouraged.  
  
"After our mother died when we were very young, father could think of little other than Boromir's training. If I entered a conversation between the two at mealtimes, or if I defeated Boromir in duelling practices that father watched, I would be told either that their business was none of mine, or to play fairly. I don't know if father ever let himself believe I could truly be better than Boromir at anything. If Ianyone/I could be better than him. That's why his death came as such a shock. It's what has made him become so pessimistic recently, I believe." He managed a rueful almost-smile; "but of course, it is for the therapist to decide."  
  
She smiled a little at this, then leaned forward herself, looking at him in earnest. "You keep coming back to your brother's death. How much do you think it has affected you? As much as your father?"  
  
He leaned back in the chair so that he was looking down at her. "Yes. I loved my brother as much as my father did. Only it has affected me in other ways," he said shortly, obviously not finding this as easy as the rest of their conversation.  
  
"And how do you think it has affected you in comparison with your father's reactions?" she pressed. "This is likely to be very important to our sessions, Faramir, I want you to understand that."  
  
For a moment the therapist did not believe that he was going to answer her question - his lips were firmly pressed, paling to the colour of his light skin, and his head was held high and proud. He looked like an offended stallion that was judging a rider to be worthy or not. Eventually a quiver ran down his neck and it relaxed, his lips parting in a sigh of resignation as colour flowed back into them. His shoulders slumped a tiny bit, and he couldn't hold eye contact any longer. "If anything, I think it has given me hope where it has sapped my father's. But it has made me numb. I do not see the beauty of my land as I used to; I do not stop to observe anymore. I no longer feel such a thrill as I used to before battle; I have become like a drone. My only goal is to continue fighting for my city and my father. To prove to him that although Boromir is dead he still has me.  
  
"I don't think I am as open with my emotions as I used to be. My brother and I used to talk much together. Our rooms were near enough that when I dreamed - " Faramir stopped abruptly, as though waking up or realising that he was on the brink of revealing something he shouldn't have. He continued warily, "When I dreamed of evil things he might hear my upset and be awake for me to speak with. Together we could discern the meanings of such visions and afterwards our minds would be at peace. We knew that we could share anything with one another. Despite father's.favouritism we remained friends, as brothers should be. Even when our city began to be attacked we fought alongside one another and there was no man in our realm who would not follow the sons of the Steward into battle," he gave a rueful laugh and cupped his chin in one of his hands again. "Yes, we were well liked together. But when you take away the arrow the bow is useless. Alone Boromir left our realm in search of answers. He did not return. And now that I alone govern our army I feel burdened. I feel weary and lonely, but still with hope and still with a desire to fight. I am torn."  
  
The therapist checked that her tape recorder was still on, astounded and gladdened by her client's lapse into a reverie of spoken emotions. This was what most of her clients did right from the start - they came expecting to have to perform like that. Now she felt as though she were coming closer to understanding the problem and she felt her own shoulders tire a little; as though she now shared the warrior's burden.  
  
"So you think his death has made you isolated?" she asked as gently as she could, her hands trembling a little.  
  
He gave a small start and his chin leapt an inch or so off his hand. He blinked and gave a gasp, as if only just remembering her presence. His hand almost instantly covered his eyes and he turned his head away from her.  
  
"Yes, that's what I think," Faramir said quietly, still not looking up. He pulled the glove off the hand that covered his face - the motion was angry, swift, frustrated. He sniffed and drew his weathered fingers across his cheeks, blinking back further tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Miss Julie, this is silly, I - "  
  
"It is not silly, Faramir son of Denethor!" The therapist strode across the room and hefted a box of Kleenex from her desk with one hand. She placed it firmly on his knees and said, "Don't be ashamed to cry - that's the first step on your road to recovery! Remember that. I know it's hard." she continued as he ignored the tissues, his shoulder twitching convulsively while he tried in vain to bottle everything up again. "I know it's hard, because as you say, you have been shying away from displays of emotion, but once you've finished, I promise that you will feel the burden you carry with you lighten a little."  
  
He drew a deeper breath and lowered his hand. The therapist gazed down at him as she stood between the two chairs and felt that she had already become much more involved in this particular case than any other she had ever happened across. Faramir's eyes were closed but silent tears were now washing his cheeks and matting his lashes. He took off his other glove and let the pair fall to the floor beside his chair before opening his eyes again. He glanced briefly up at the therapist, flashing a brief smile for show and picking a tissue from the box.  
  
With a sigh part of relief, and part of pity, the therapist resumed her seat opposite him. It saddened her to see his proud face distorted by tears and loss, and she found herself becoming curious once more about his culture. It appeared to her that though war apparently ravaged his people and deaths occurred too often to count them all, the people were still sensitive to suffering and still retained goodness, despite the evil deeds they themselves performed. Pursing her lips a little in thought, the therapist leant forwards once more, rocking a little on the edge of her seat.  
  
She said nothing while he fought his emotions back, and waited patiently as he massaged his temples and eyes impatiently, and drew deep breaths of self- disgust. Only when with a final gasp he leant back in his chair once more and studied her with reddened - but steady - eyes did she speak.  
  
"Faramir," she said gently but insistently. "Would it be at all possible to meet your father - Denethor?"  
  
His determination to keep eye contact faltered, and his glance fell and leapt from one spot on the floor to another as he thought about it. The therapist cringed to see his fingers whitening as he squeezed the armrests. She saw that they were unclean - and she did not think that it was just mud underneath the ragged nails. Her thoughts were interrupted when with a sudden return to his calculating, shrewd form, he asked, "Why do you wish to see him? It is I who came to you for help and anyway, I could not bring my father here."  
  
"In some ways you are so similar to other people who have come to me with family troubles, Faramir," the therapist admitted, breaking her policy of never mentioning other clients to the one she was with. "But in other ways you are the most unusual and different person I have ever met. I don't think I can understand your situation fully until I know more - I think it may help me to see Gondor, and to meet with your father."  
  
He leaned his head back on the headrest and studied her with an amused, relaxed expression, although she could still see a dampness on his cheeks. "And what should I say to my father were I to take you before him? That I am seeing a therapist from the wild lands beyond Rûhn? If he even knew that I am seeing a therapist he would be so angry that he would curse me a thousand times, and curse the death of Boromir a thousand more, all before wishing for my death instead of his."  
  
The therapist's next argument died on her lips. "Where? Where on earth is.'Roon'? And where is 'Gondor'? I haven't heard of either, and I've been wondering for some time about your city. How is it that a full scale war can be waged without the knowledge of.of anyone?"  
  
His lips curved a little and he interlaced his hands before his chin, watching her. "You have not heard of them because to you they do not exist. There is no place for you but earth. There is no Middle-earth for you - because no-one here knows how to find it."  
  
The therapist almost blurted out to him that he was beginning to show the signs of someone who deserved a straightjacket and padded cell, but something held her back. She knew that all the others had been just as sure as Faramir was of their other lands' existence. She kept reminding herself that. But none of them had carried a sword and bow, none of them had come to her willingly nor under the pretence of family upsets, and none of them seemed quite so.Inormal/I. She knew that although so much about him seemed strange, when compared with those who had been committed to mental hospitals he was positively sane.  
  
"Please, show me where it is. At least take me there once. I promise I won't ask to meet your father, but show me Middle-earth."  
  
Obviously enjoying being the one in control this time, Faramir leisurely stretched his arms back and rested his head on his locked fingers. His grin was feral when he asked; "Can you ride? It is many miles by horseback from the land you call Dartmoor to Rûhn and took me at least two days by your reckoning through paths that I knew of without the burden of another."  
  
"Horseback? You don't travel by cars? Or planes?" The therapist was beginning to feel considerably out of her depth.  
  
"We are fighting a war that - among other things - aims to ensure that we remain free of cars and planes. They would do grievous harm to our lands and cause naught but upset I'll warrant."  
  
"I could.I could get a couple of riding lessons during the week - enough so that I'd know how to stay on a horse at least. I'm physically up to it, I do yoga and aerobics, and I know enough about camping and travelling by foot to hold my own. Will you meet me in a week and take me to Middle-earth with you or not?"  
  
Faramir gave her the full force of his quiet considering look. His fingers rubbed absent-mindedly at the stubble in the shallow dimple in his chin. "Very well. You must dress appropriately - wear trousers. Do not bother with food for I can arrange that. I am to meet you here at my normal time next week?"  
  
The therapist didn't reply for a moment, so stunned was she that he'd agreed to take her. Doubts began to float up to the surface of her mind that had been forgotten in her sea of interest, but she knew that it had been her who had pressed the point and now she could not go back on herself. "No, not here. I'll meet you outside my house. Do you know Oxford Street? It's a rather main one, the houses are a little more spread out with a little more garden." Faramir nodded. "I live at number forty-two. Meet me there at nine? Ten? On Thursday next week."  
  
"Nine would be better if you don't mind, Miss Julie - an hour can make a lot of difference."  
  
"Nine it is then," the therapist said with feigned satisfaction, hoping that her troubles were not lining her face, as they were wont to do. She stood up and smoothed her skirt self-consciously before offering her hand to Faramir once more. He gave a sigh and clasped it with one of his own long-fingered hands, but he didn't shake it - he drew it to him a little and gave it a gentle kiss on the knuckles. The therapist felt her jaw drop as he got up, gave a small bow, and left her office. 


	3. Therapy Session No3

uFARAMIR THERAPY SESSION NO. 3/u  
  
The therapist awoke with a start from a dream that had ended with her standing fearfully before a great charge of elephants equipped with catapults on their backs. They had begun to fire on her as she stood in the road wearing her suit, her handbag flung at her feet and her arms raised in horror.  
  
She gave a start as a sharp bang leapt into the silence of her room, fearing that her dream hadn't been such a false reality. Rubbing her eyes and clattering a hand across her bedside table she searched for her clock. The glowing red letters blinked wearily at her: 1:30 am Sunday morning. The orange glow of the street light filtered through the thin curtains and traced wobbly lines of amber across her bed sheets and floor.  
  
The therapist lay back once more with a sigh, thinking that in the morning she'd seek out the meaning of her dream, when the bang came again. Something kept hitting her window with enough force to scare her silly, but gently enough that the glass remained unscathed.  
  
Grumbling about city kids, she threw her bed covers aside and yanked the curtain open, wincing a little at the bright glare of the lamp outside. The garden looked empty at first - roses, herbs, forget-me-nots and lilies about the small pond, but no swaying teenagers clutching bottles. Yet something was there in the shadows under the willow tree - there was a patch of shadow not as blotchy as the rest where a more solid item was casting its own darkness.  
  
The therapist pushed the window open slowly, peering out only a little lest whoever it was decided to throw any more stones. "Hello?" she called softly, feeling a little odd, as though she were talking to herself. "Is anyone there?"  
  
"Miss Julie? I am sorry I had to wake you, but we need to set off much sooner - war is imminent in Gondor and I cannot take you to my land once the Enemy has moved."  
  
The therapist gave a snort of disbelief and leant heavily on the frame. "What?"  
  
"We need to set out today!"  
  
She shook her head - II'm still dreaming/I. "Faramir.what are you doing at my house? It's one-thirty in the morning!"  
  
The figure came out from under the tree. He was cloaked in green and only a proud chin and the tip of a nose were visible in the shadow cast by his hood. "I had to tell you - I knew that if I had arrived later you wouldn't have had time to pack in time for us to set off! We need to leave at eight."  
  
The therapist blinked and passed a well-manicured hand through her hair. She wasn't at all surprised to see a large bow and a quiver of arrows slung over Faramir's shoulder. "Okay," she took a deep breath. "Come to the back door - I'll let you in."  
  
The therapist pulled the window and the curtains shut and turned back into her dark room. She gave herself a reassuring pinch on the thigh through her thin nightie just to check she was awake and picked up her dressing gown, tying the sash tightly. With heavy clomping steps the therapist descended her wooden steps and pulled the door keys off their hook with a clatter and a jangle. She clumsily unlocked the door and pulled it open.  
  
"I'm sorry to wake you, Miss Julie, really I am." Faramir stepped in upon her gesture and she was suddenly aware how tall he was. She had never been considered particularly tiny, and she wore heels most of the time, but she was now aware that he was a good five inches the taller.  
  
"It's okay.I mean it must be important for you to come here. I just hope you appreciate how truly surreal this is for me," she folded her arms and bit her lip, watching him stride around her small table before laying his weapons and cloak upon it.  
  
"Will it take you long to pack?" he asked, ignoring her question and studying the walls of the room.  
  
"Uh.no I don't think so. You said you had food organised and I know which clothes I'm taking. It's not like I'm going to need any beauty products where we're going, right?"  
  
He looked down at her and smiled a little. "I don't see why you should need any at all, Miss Julie."  
  
She blushed furiously and tucked her hair behind her ears quickly, studying the linoleum floor. "Well, you can get some rest before we set off, surely. I'll make up the couch for you - it's not much, but it's a bed at least. I'll set my alarm for six and then I'll have plenty of time to be ready," and with that the therapist bustled past Faramir and out through the small foyer to the living room. She gave the pedal at the side of the sofa a hefty kick and cursed the pain stabbing up her toes as the couch collapsed into a bed. Hopping across the room, she flung open a small cupboard and hauled out several thick woollen blankets.  
  
Faramir stood in the doorway with raised eyebrows as she straightened out the covers with finality and slammed the cupboard door closed. "Voila!" she spread her hands and moved to leave the room but he put a hand out and caught her by the arm.  
  
"Thank you. Will you wake me when your alarm is raised?"  
  
She stared for a moment, unable to think of what she should be saying. "I.I.at six? Yes of course." Then she slipped her arm from his grip and padded up the stairs.  
  
The alarm went off at six, just as it had been instructed to, and the therapist lay there listening to its incessant bleeping. The bed was very warm, and she could feel the air on her cheeks like the gust from an open refrigerator. She wasn't good at mornings and she was used to her Sunday lie-ins. After about five minutes she felt her eyelids drooping again as she slid back under the covers.  
  
Much to her surprise, however, the alarm stopped and something gave her shoulder a little squeeze through the thick duvet. "Miss Julie?" the voice sounded amused. "You still wish to see Gondor, I presume? I am sorry to disturb your privacy yet again as well as your sleep, but you really must start to pack."  
  
The therapist peered out of her bed covers with round eyes. This she had not expected. "Okay, thanks. I'll just be down in a minute. Um, you can get some breakfast if you want - you know where the kitchen is."  
  
Faramir, who was wearing only his green woollen trousers and a thick white shirt, nodded graciously and left the room, closing the door softly as he went.  
  
The therapist took a moment to compose herself, then flung back the covers with finality and raced across to her small bathroom, throwing the doors open and turning the shower on before hastily gathering her chosen clothes from her cupboard.  
  
It was a quarter past seven when she went downstairs, frizzy hair-dried hair tamed by a simple ponytail and cold tamed by woolly jumper and cotton trousers. Faramir wasn't in the kitchen, so she guessed he had gone back to the living room to get ready and she slung her own reasonably sized bag on the table next to his weapons and cloak.  
  
In a few minutes she was munching on a bowl of Cornflakes and knocking on the living room door. "Faramir? It's about half-past now. Have you had breakfast?"  
  
The door opened a crack and one of Faramir's grey eyes peered around it, "No, I was not sure how you arranged your kitchen and did not wish to make a mess of the place."  
  
"Can I bring you anything?"  
  
"Do you have fruit? I should like an apple if you have them."  
  
"Yes, I have apples. Red okay?"  
  
"Yes, thank you."  
  
"Is that all you want?"  
  
"Yes, thank you that would be fine."  
  
The door clicked shut and the therapist gave a shrug to herself and slurped another spoonful of cereal into her mouth. She returned to the door with an apple and gave another knock. "You still want the apple?"  
  
The door opened a bit wider and a bare arm reached out, palm upwards. Staring at the numerous scratches and bruises along its pale length, the therapist placed the apple firmly in the hand. "Thank you, Miss Julie." The arm retreated and the door closed.  
  
The therapist scraped the dregs of her Cornflakes out of the bowl and sauntered back into the kitchen, frowning as she licked the spoon. She guessed such minor injuries were just the results of constant sword- fighting, but she still didn't like to think about that - she was putting her beloved reality on hold for the time being to trust in Faramir. She didn't want to think of swords or wars or any such things; all she wanted was to help Faramir with his family troubles, because that was her job, and that was why he had come to her.  
  
Satisfied that she was sure of her role and her path, the therapist shut the dishwasher door with a grim smile. 


	4. Therapy Session No4

Author's note: Thanks SO much for all the reviews! I love you all! But please don't try and get me into some sort of debate about war and self- defence, because it totally screws with my head, and THIS IS ONLY A STORY. I'm not saying that any of the views in this fic are views of mine at all, and I'm not saying that any of the characters is like me! I tried to make Julie as different from me as possible after my friends made comments about it.~_- Especial thanks go to Pingu6312 who is the bestest online buddy anyone can have! *huggles Jill* I'm trying to improve my patience when writing since doing this chapter - it's kind of lazy in the description department, because I couldn't be bothered to write a load about what happened each day of travel or anything.. So I think this is my worst chapter - but please stick with me, coz number five's the last and the best. I'm sure it's the last, but you can correct me on whether it's the best or not. I'd love some comments on 'Stars and Steel Guitars' though if you wouldn't mind.I'm working most on description etc in that fic and I think I need some help -FARAMIR THEREAPY SESSION NO. 4/u  
  
The therapist found that even after only a couple of hours' travel at a light pace the horse was not nearly as comfortable as it had been at first. She fidgeted in the saddle a little, thinking of her zippy little Smart car at home. They were just approaching Dartmoor Forest and her back was beginning to ache.  
  
"Are we going to stop at all during the day?" she asked the silent figure in front.  
  
Faramir turned round a little in the saddle, "Are you tired?"  
  
The therapist pulled a face. "Hey - who's the therapist here? I was just wondering if we had to eat lunch up here and everything?"  
  
Faramir seemed to smirk a bit, but the therapist couldn't tell for sure because his mouth was partially hidden by the bunched up hood of his cloak. "No, we'll stop for lunch. But I hope to be well into the land of Rûhn ere we pause."  
  
The therapist nodded solemnly in time with the swaying of her bay horse. It was called Simbel and was calm enough, but she still felt unsafe as they plodded on, her looking down every so often and wishing she had the hard hat that the riding school had supplied her with.  
  
It was midday before Faramir slowed his horse to a halt. They were on a small path in the woods, and the therapist - who liked to garden in her spare time - had noticed a very subtle and gradual change in the flora and even the temperature and the light. The Ranger turned around once more to face her. "Can you keep going for a bit longer or would you like to rest here, Miss Julie?"  
  
The therapist, not wanting to seem weak in front of him, was about to reply in defiance that she was good for another couple of hours. However, as she drew herself up and straightened her back, it gave a series of pops and clicks that warned her to take the break when it was offered. With a sigh, she slumped again, "If it's okay to stop here I'd be glad to - my back is killing me."  
  
With a smile and a nod, Faramir dismounted and tied his horse to a medium- sized sapling by the edge of the path. The therapist slithered off her mount with less grace and when her feet hit the earth again her knees would have surrendered her to the leafy ground but for her grip on either side of the saddle.  
  
Lunch was not the most filling of meals, but it was welcome nonetheless. The therapist leant against a tree, splaying herself in a most ungainly position as she chewed her tuna sandwiches with satisfaction. Faramir didn't eat. He paced the area for a while, then walked along the path a little, and then explored the surrounding brush a bit. When he came to a standstill in front of the therapist - who was basking in the dappled sunlight - he looked stern, exasperated, and also slightly amused. "Are you rested?"  
  
She smiled, and then gave a mock wince and she stretched her arms out before her. "I think I'll manage a bit more riding now, yeah."  
  
Faramir gave her a look from under half-closed eyelids as he offered a hand to her. Gladly she took it and seemingly without any effort he hauled her to her weary feet. Within moments she found herself back on her horse, following his green-clad back along the path once more.  
  
The wood began to thin after several hours. Spindly and graceful silver birches became the predominant tree and a delicate pink flower carpeted the ground to either side of the path. The therapist thought that they looked like a smaller, lighter type of crowfoot. When the trees came to an end the path had acquired a more compact surface. The sound of the horses' footfalls, although muffled by a fluffy green moss, reverberated a little more on the compressed earth.  
  
The therapist took a good look around the land. There wasn't a chunk of concrete in sight, nor was there any hint of skyscrapers or apartment blocks. She marvelled at the way nature was still so predominant in the land, though it was barren and deserted. A tiny stream coughed and spluttered over sharp grey rocks, leading ahead of them and over the horizon, where the therapist thought she could discern the glimmer of a huge expanse of water.  
  
Faramir seemed sad. He turned to the therapist and said: "This is the border between Rûhn and southern Gondor. It is no more than a wasteland now but once it was full of life. The woods we have just exited are not shown on many maps of Middle-earth because they have been forgotten by most." He turned in his saddle and craned his neck to see the sky behind them. The therapist didn't turn round. She could feel a cool wind start to blow from behind them, and the light seemed to come from ahead but not from behind. She shivered. "And very glad I am that they have been forgotten," her guide murmured.  
  
"So what happened here?" The therapist asked, hoping to turn his attention away from the clouds amassing behind them.  
  
Faramir did turn back to her. "The mountains behind us-"  
  
"Mountains? We just came out of a wood!"  
  
The Ranger said nothing. He just flicked a quick glance back over the therapist's shoulder then back to her. His gaze, though still upset, now had a measure of challenge to it. She turned in the saddle slowly, glancing back once to see his expression. It remained the same, watching hers. There were no silver birches behind her. No delicate pink flowers. Not even any moss.  
  
"Those are the southernmost peaks of the Ephel Duath. They are the Mountains of Shadow and they run south from North Ithilien before curving east to Khand. They are the walls of a fortress which has besieged these lands for centuries, millennia even."  
  
The therapist turned back to him with a terrified expression. The sky behind them was glowing an angry red and malevolent brown clouds swirled around the peaks of the black rocks rising up from the earth. "The thing that's attacking your people.that's what's making the sky do that?" She knew the question sounded foolish, but all of a sudden she found her knuckles whitening as she gripped Simbel's reins.  
  
"Yes," Faramir said simply. "The land before you has been ravaged by war, civil and otherwise, and is now a place where no one would dwell. All we are doing is passing through - our real troubles will not start until we reach the Harad Road. For now, though, we will follow the Harnen."  
  
He had turned his horse and set off down the shallow slope to the plain before the therapist could respond. She assumed that the small river forming was the Harnen, for that seemed to be his destination. The sun was beginning to dip, knocking the clouds as it went and tingeing them yellow and magenta. It would have been beautiful, the therapist thought, if not for the ever-spreading twilight behind her.  
  
They had not travelled far down the riverbanks when the light cooled from orange to blue and a bite came into the air. Faramir halted by a group of stunted gorse trees whose needles were tipped in brown, and whose flowers were withered and few. "We will camp here for the night. I am afraid we cannot risk a fire in such open country, so fruit must suffice if you are hungry."  
  
He dismounted and led his horse to a particularly bare branch where he tethered it. The therapist, overcome with weariness, remained on her horse, relaxing as she watched his practised movements. He unsaddled the horse and propped the saddle against the short trunk of the bush. His fingers nimbly worked at the buckles on the saddlebags despite the thick gloves he wore. Soon a rough bedding had been set up on the hard ground, and he laid his bow and quiver of arrows by the saddle. Giving her a look of inquiry he unbuckled his belt and placed his sword within arms reach by the bedding. "Are you planning to sleep up there, Miss Julie?" It was dark enough that she couldn't see his expression, though his voice suggested a fair measure of amusement.  
  
The therapist dismounted stiffly and stumbled over to a branch, her horse looking at her quizzically. She looped the reins and unbuckled the girth, all the while just wanting to lean forwards onto the animal's soft coat and fall asleep standing up.  
  
When her own bedding was set up, she sat down heavily on the blankets, wishing the ground was as soft as she had anticipated when she collapsed. She glanced briefly at Faramir, who was sitting leant against his pack, under his covers but wide awake and studying a map by the light of a small, well-used candle. The therapist sighed and pulled her hiking boots off before squirming under the woollen blankets. She stayed awake just long enough to hear a soft, "sleep well, Miss Julie."  
  
She was just as tired in the morning, plus her aches were doubled by the unyielding rock under her. The light was cold and blue and the sun not quite up when, as before, Faramir gave her shoulder a small squeeze. "I am sorry to rob you of your mornings sleep, Miss Julie, but it is almost dawn."  
  
The therapist mumbled into her covers and blinked as she looked about the camp. It wasn't any different from last night, except that everything - including her - was covered in a fine mist of dew and Faramir's packs was back on his re-saddled horse. It being so early, she hadn't worked up an appetite yet, so without much fuss they were soon on their way again.  
  
The days' travel was uneventful. The therapist occasionally walked her horse by Faramir's so that she could talk to him. At her lunch stop he showed her a map of the region.  
  
"Why are we following the river? Wouldn't it be quicker to cut across country?" The therapist asked, having thought carefully before even daring to suggest it - she didn't want to seem without faith in her guide.  
  
Faramir gave her the look she'd expected - one eyebrow raised, 'oh really?' "Yes, if we knew the land, and there were enough springs and streams. But it might not be suitable for riding, and we would go slower on foot. We could lose our bearings - we could lose each other, and who knows whether tribes still inhabit the wilds of these parts?"  
  
The therapist just nodded, expecting some reaction similar to that. "So how many days' travel do you think we have left?"  
  
He rolled up the map again. "I would estimate that we have about five days' travel to Osgilliath. There we'll join with the rest of my men, who will be pulling out of that doomed city. We will travel to Minas Tirith, the capital city of Gondor from there. It shouldn't quite take a day's travel."  
  
"Six days, then?" He nodded. The therapist sighed as she remounted her horse, wondering what would happen to the people who had expected appointments with her during the week.  
  
The next days passed without excitement. They talked, sometimes of the history of Gondor, sometimes of trivial matters, such as plants and pets. Faramir laughed easily for those two days, but on the fourth day of travel, as they trotted through the scrub at the sides of the Harad Road he became less talkative, and the therapist let Simbel drop back into single file with Faramir's horse. He turned once to her, a couple of hours after their midday break and whispered, "We approach the Crossings of Poros. I do not expect them to be guarded, but we must take care - soon we will leave the side of the road, for it is not safe to travel near to the path of servants of the Dark Lord."  
  
The therapist merely nodded again, unsure of what a reply to that should sound like.  
  
They travelled on in silence for an hour or two before Faramir halted at the edge of the thin tree cover. The Crossings consisted of one wide stone bridge spanning the river and shallow fords either side for those travelling on foot. The bridge, about eight meters in width, had once carried wains and carts journeying from South Gondor to the capital in the north and back again. It was a sturdy bridge, made for supporting heavy trading traffic.  
  
For a few long moments Faramir assessed the area. When he nudged his horse onwards, the therapist followed in perfect trust of his abilities as a Ranger, believing that if he had seen nothing, nothing was there. The horses picked their way uneasily across the ford nearest to them and pranced just a little when they reached the slightly greener grass on the banks of South Ithilien.  
  
It was early afternoon when Faramir led the therapist over the River Poros, and they travelled halfway into the lands of South Ithilien before it was dark. As she laid out her bedding, the therapist happened to glance up at the silhouettes of the mountains up ahead. She gave a gasp at what she saw - it was as if some terrible cold star had been trapped between two peaks, and now sat there like a malevolent lighthouse, luring weary travellers to its jagged peaks. "Faramir," she breathed, as though suddenly afraid she were being watched. "What's that?"  
  
She didn't need to point and he didn't need to turn around to see what the therapist referred to. "It is Minas Morgul. A tower of guard - once it's guard faced inwards, now it faces outwards. Sorcery makes its abode within it now, but once it was the Tower of the Rising Moon and was kin to the tower of Minas Tirith. Do not spend to long looking upon its light, Miss Julie - it ensnares enough as it is."  
  
He sighed and sat down by his weapons whilst the therapist pondered his words. She slept fitfully that night, her dreams filled with leering faces decayed by more than time, and everything was pierced with the blue light of Minas Morgul and the high pitched wails of its inhabitants.  
  
They passed the Morgul Vale in their next day of travel, and though neither looked between the gap in the mountains, both felt the power there. Faramir said quietly, sadly, when they had passed it, "That was the path Frodo and Sam chose to take." When the therapist didn't reply, he looked up. "You remember, Miss Julie, the hobbits?"  
  
"Yes, Faramir, I remember. What do you suppose happened to them?"  
  
"I should not like to suppose," he whispered.  
  
The road was still quiet, as were the travellers, when they came nigh to the partially ruined bridge of Osgilliath. Orc bodies littered the streets of the city on the near bank and Faramir instructed the therapist to keep her eyes focused on his back, and not to look down or sideways. She obeyed his command gladly. Faramir seemed tense, his shoulders hunching with every clip or clop of the horses' footfalls on the stone. The bridge was now in sight at the end of the street, and though it had been hit several times by catapulted stones, a meter or so on the left side was yet intact.  
  
Here Faramir dismounted, the therapist following suit. They led their horses across the narrow path, the therapist's eyes fixed firmly on Faramir's shoulders - away from the swirling grey waters beneath the stone and away from the bodies floating in them. She wondered why the orcs didn't bury their people, but did not ask him, for fear of breaking the silence.  
  
Faramir halted on the other side, but did not remount. The therapist brought Simbel to a halt by him and heard him whisper, "Mablung, where are you?" He sounded worried, and she felt a panic begin to writhe within her - if Faramir was scared then what hope was there for her?  
  
He turned to her, a grim expression on his face. "We will continue on foot - if the horses' steps are heard by orcs we will hide more effectively by running on feet that do not clatter. Do not fear though, Mablung and the rest of my company will here soon, I have no doubt of that."  
  
They began to lead their horses along the continuing street, Faramir just ahead of the therapist. There were not so many bodies on this side of the river, but the silence was deeper. When two orcs appeared ahead of them, the therapist had barely recognised their existence before they fell to Faramir's arrows. She clutched Simbel's long mane to steady herself, but she couldn't take her eyes off the bodies now as Faramir rushed forwards to check there were no more.  
  
Faramir removed his arrows from the orc bodies before venturing a couple of steps down the road from which the ambushers had emerged. Finding nothing, he crept back to where his horse stood and turned to check that the therapist was okay.  
  
He broke into a run, an awful feeling swelling in his lungs. His arrows felled another pair of orcs, but the damage had been done and the therapist slid to her knees, her fingers releasing Simbel's mane. Faramir caught her lightly as she wavered. He was careful to avoid the arrow in her back as he held her upright. 


	5. Therapy Session No5

uFARAMIR THERAPY SESSION 5/u  
  
For once in his life as a Ranger Faramir was at a loss. He knelt by Simbel, Julie lying in his arms, her breathing shallow and fast and her eyes closed. The streets of Osgilliath were now silent as the sun began to sink, sending shafts of orange glowing through splits in the stonework of the city. It reminded Faramir of the artificial lamps in the street where the therapist lived.  
  
He gently manoeuvred himself so that he could examine her back, and gritted his teeth as he began to work the cruel point of the goblin arrow out of her skin. It was only when he had removed it and pried the thick wool of her jumper away from the wound that he could see for sure how bad her injury was.  
  
The skin was angry and the puncture was deep - he could tell despite the fact that a constant torrent of blood welled from the small hole. As Faramir carefully tore a strip from the bottom of Julie's shirt and dabbed at the lesion she gave a cry and he felt her whole body tense. "Hush, Miss Julie it's all right. Lie still and I will clean and bind the wound."  
  
But she didn't relax, and a movement of shadow in the corner of his eye made the Ranger's head whip round. He gave the low call of a bird of Ithilien, hoping to hear a reply from Mablung. Several minutes passed and all that Faramir heard as he stared intently into the gathering gloom was the occasional whimper of the therapist. It was only as he felt the leg of his breeches begin to glow with the sweaty, thick heat of spilled blood that he swore and turned his attention back to the therapist's wound.  
  
Faramir was used to binding and cleaning others' wounds. His men had joked that he was untouchable - it was always him cleaning up them, never the other way around. His practised fingers wound a strip of cloth taken from his saddlebag around Julie's torso and he very carefully lifted her back into a sitting position. He wasn't entirely confident that the wound was unpolluted yet - the arrow had dug deep and it had not been at all clean.  
  
The ground was cold, the old paving stones now devoid of the moss they had once harboured - the fires of Mordor had seen to that. Faramir held the therapist closely and she clutched his cloak. She still didn't speak, but her eyes were open and she murmured to herself. Faramir gazed up at the sky, wishing the clouds would clear to let the stars out. He sighed, his fingers absent-mindedly toying with Julie's ponytail for comfort.  
  
Faramir awoke with a horrible feeling. It wasn't that the cold stone was uncomfortable against his back, nor that he could feel the blood escaping Julie's wound again, not even that an arrow was poised atop his larynx. He had fallen asleep and he cursed himself for it.  
  
A group of five stooped goblins surrounded them, each one armed with a crude bow and serrated blades. Faramir measured the scene in one glance and knew that he would be able to overpower them given the right circumstances, but those were not now.  
  
"Get up, humans!" growled the orc whose arrow was closest to Faramir. Julie seemed to be unconscious.  
  
"My companion is wounded," he said softly, gesturing towards the therapist. "May I see to her injury before you take us where ever you will?"  
  
Several of the creatures laughed. "Take you where ever we will? And what makes you think we're not just gonna shoot you here, lying in the street like bugs under a cart wheel?"  
  
"Because you asked us to stand," the Ranger replied boldly, determined that after letting himself fall asleep he had to prove that he was not losing control. But he was so tired.the war continued day after day and his father's insults wore him down. He was nearly overwhelmed for a moment by the desire to just collapse back into sleep upon the ground and let what ever was to happen, happen.  
  
The orc leader seemed vaguely amused by the audacity of his prisoner and let Faramir re-bind Julie's wound. It didn't appear to him, however, that the clean cloth was sufficient treatment, for the skin was red and raw, and the scab was not hard. He asked permission to clean it, but his own sword was laid in restraint upon his reaching arm by one of the goblins.  
  
When the group began to move out, it was with two orcs at the front of the party, followed by Faramir, who carried Julie, behind whom came three more orcs. The creatures were all small and wiry - mountain-dwellers brought south from Moria by the call of Sauron. None were particularly tall, and Faramir could see easily over the heads of those in front of him.  
  
They were walking back the way he had brought the therapist yesterday and there was no sign of the horses. The orcs were in no hurry - the sun was rising and they kept to the shadows of the buildings, grumbling amongst themselves about timetables. They stopped at the edge of Osgilliath just after midday, reluctant to enter the greenness of Ithilien during the day. Faramir chose a spot just in the sun to sit and he was permitted to check Julie's wound again before his wrists and ankles were bound.  
  
He was challenging himself not to fall asleep in the warm afternoon sun when a voice full of pain ensured that he wouldn't drop off. "Faramir, where are we?"  
  
The therapist had pulled herself into a sitting position, her back against the wall. She didn't look comfortable though, and her knuckles were white as she scraped her nails on the stone, willing her hands not to clench into fists.  
  
He was so shocked to see her alert that he did not stop to wonder that the orcs had not bound her, trusting that she would not be a menace. "We-we're still in Osgilliath," he stammered, gazing at her with awe. "How are you feeling? I was not sure you would ever wake again!"  
  
She looked a little bemused, "I don't think I'm too good, Faramir, but I am awake. What's happened? Who are these? I'm guessing that one isn't Mablung." She had gestured to the head orc, and Faramir smiled a little - in stature and build the creature was the complete opposite to his second- in-command.  
  
She looked haggard and ill, but her attempt at light-heartedness reassured him a little. "I fell asleep last night. I'm sorry. Of all the nights to lose myself it had to be - "  
  
"It's okay, Faramir, don't blame yourself. From what you've told me about life here, and from what I've witnessed - " she gave a rueful smirk. "You had every excuse to fall asleep last night."  
  
Finally overcoming his surprise - and joy - he glanced to Julie's unbound hands. "Miss Julie, could you discreetly undo my bonds? I think I can overpower our captors now that the sun is high."  
  
She nodded, obviously confused about his mentioning the sun in relation to the orcs, but willing to help. Wincing, the therapist edged closer to him and reached across to undo the bonds binding his hands. She used her once perfect nails to pick at the frayed rope, the polish on them chipping and the edges beginning to split.  
  
None of the orcs had looked over at them since they had stopped, and the two nearest to them were huddled in a shadow, gripping their weapons feverishly and snarling to each other through slitted eyes. Consequently, neither of them stood a chance when a full-grown Gondorian man at his most youthful in exuberance and strength bowled into them from a hunkered sprint. As he did so, retrieving his sword from the hands of one whilst rolling over them and trailing it enough so that it sliced a gash across the thighs of the orc who'd held it.  
  
The other orcs sat by and watched the head of one and the black blood of another of their comrades' fall across the stones before they arranged their wits sufficiently to act. Another was felled as he reached for his arrow, the next as he raised his. The one remaining saw Faramir coming and turned his bow away from the man and towards the hunched figure of Julie. The Gondorian changed his course and gave a controlled grunt as the arrow glanced off his shoulder, clattering to the ground at the same time as the body of the last goblin.  
  
Faramir, breathing heavy with adrenaline, let his sword-arm lower, and turned to face Julie, a grim expression on his face. She didn't look up at him though, and he longed for the reaction he had hoped to get - relief, shock, awe, comfort. Instead it was he giving the comfort once more as her head tilted forwards onto her chest, and her strength withdrew from her, leaving her to fall side wards onto the paving. Once more, he rushed to her side, every limb feeling as though it were weighted down. He brushed his fingers along her neck, feeling for a pulse.  
  
She hadn't been hit again, but her final reserves of energy seemed to have given out. He wondered whether he hadn't just imagined all that had happened from his capture until now, wondered whether this was a dream, and whether he would wake up soon, the horses snuffling at the stones, hoping for food, and Julie lying across him, sleeping soundly before he re-bound her wound.  
  
Even as the cry of a bird of Ithilien broke the muggy air and Julie's pulse gave out, tears began to roll down Faramir's dusty cheeks. 


End file.
